


Nightmares

by owlberry



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Night Terrors, One Shot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tommy POV, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlberry/pseuds/owlberry
Summary: Ever since he was little, Tommy has had nightmares.-The story of brothers falling apart, and stitching themselves back together.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 8
Kudos: 199





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> i've had a lot of emotions about the boys lately, so here you go :) hope you enjoy!
> 
> minor warning for canon typical violence and such. if the things shown on the smp don't bother you, hopefully this won't either <3
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!

Ever since he was little, Tommy has had nightmares.

There was hardly a night that passed without the small boy waking up in tears. He never remembered the dreams when he was young. Even so, they instilled a deep fear into him. Something he just couldn’t put into words. Couldn’t even rationalize to himself.

The darkness always seemed too big on those nights. Like it would come and snatch him up. Eat him alive. Take him apart, bit by bit. And the silence… the silence seemed to smother him. He never liked being alone.

Soon, the fear would force him out of his soft, warm blankets. Force him to step into the writhing shadows below. Skitter his way across the cold floor. Run as fast as he could to safety.

For him, safety was the room across the hall. Just like the rest of the house, it stood quiet and dark. But, unlike the other two doors in the hallway, it always sat slightly ajar. An unspoken welcoming. A secret, just for these restless nights.

Sometimes Tommy tried to be quiet when he enters the room. Other times his tears are too much. The fear is too strong. He’d slam the door behind him, and sprint towards the bed.

Once up on the mattress, his stomach settles. His pounding heart calms itself. The tears begin to trickle out. Safety and security fall over him, keeping him warm.

He’ll wade through the blankets, nearly falling into the soft bedding. Occasionally he’ll crawl over a stray limb. Or kick something that feels suspiciously _not_ like a pillow. Small grunts will always follow the impacts.

Usually, warm arms will reach for him. Hook him around the stomach and tug him down into place. Tommy always becomes pliant in those moments. Let’s himself be moved without argument—a rarity in his young life.

Sometimes a hoarse voice will ask if he’s okay. Other times he gets nothing more than grunts. Tommy finds he doesn’t mind either way. They’ll both go back to sleep soon enough. If he needs to, Tommy will sniffle to himself a while longer. Shake the last of his bad emotions away.

Then, he will snuggle up against a chest, or a wide back, or a bony shoulder. He will sink peacefully into the warm bubble around the bed. Nothing can hurt him here.

He’s got his big brother watching over him, after all.

-

As he gets older, Tommy’s bad dreams become less frequent.

Whenever they do plague him, he tries his best to deal with them on his own. Sometimes he’ll sit in his room for hours, glancing nervously at the shadows along the walls. Jumping at every creak of the old house. Stifling yelps whenever the wind blows too hard.

He believes he’s all grown up. He has to be strong. Asking for help is weak and stupid. He should be able to deal with it himself.

But, just like when he was little, eventually Tommy will jump out of bed and dart across the hall.

Wilbur acts a little more agitated now that they’re both older. No matter how much he gripes though, he always holds up the blankets for Tommy to duck under. Never protests when Tommy latches onto him like a spider. Simply grumbles under his breath like he always used to.

And Tommy feels safe there, knowing his brother won’t ever turn him away.

-

Eventually, life moves on. Everyone must grow up. And in doing so, they grow apart.

Wilbur begins to find home stifling. Begins to long for adventure. So, he goes out and finds it. His trips never last long in reality. But to Tommy, they feel like millennia.

With Wilbur venturing into the world, Tommy has to learn to deal with things on his own. Luckily, the older he gets, the less his bad dreams occur. The less they affect him. Finally, he begins to grow up and out. 

Seasons change, and people learn to cope on their own. That’s just a part of getting older.

-

By the time Tommy meets Dream, he’s hardly plagued by nightmares at all. Whenever a bad dream hits, he’ll simply wake up in confusion, and roll over back to sleep. He’s long gotten used to his mind’s tricks by now. He’s okay.

It doesn’t matter that Wilbur is a way away, or preoccupied with Fundy, or dealing with his potions. Tommy doesn’t really need him for anything now. Just the occasional laugh he gets when pestering him. And that’s okay. That’s what growing up is.

-

Everything changes after the war.

Suddenly, Tommy feels like a child again. A tiny little boy, startling awake with tears in his eyes. Only now, it’s so much worse.

Now, he’s plagued by the memories of being struck with an arrow. Falling into water and everything going—going dark. And cold, and—bad. Really, really, _really_ bad.

And more than that, he remembers the heat of flaming arrows pooling at his feet. Being led down a hallway. The walls opening like the jaws of a hungry animal. The sounds of slashing and screaming and _pain_. He remembers the ground being torn apart at his feet in a surge of heat. Being thrown into the water, forced underground. Feeling cornered, lost, afraid, hopeless.

It doesn’t seem to matter that they won. That everything turned out okay. It doesn’t seem to matter that he _survived_. That it’s all behind him. All just in the _past_.

It’s hard to sleep.

But this time, he’s grown up. _Really_ grown up. He’s the vice president now, he can’t be crying to his older brother. He has to be strong. He’s got to deal with this himself.

So, on those cold nights he wakes up shaking, he stays. Stays there and counts the dents in his roof. Or the monster footsteps he hears outside. The sounds of creaking, as his house tries to settle on explosion marred ground.

He’s never able to go back to sleep.

-

After a long day in L’manberg, hearing out Wilbur’s plans to hold an election, Tubbo and Tommy decide to stay in the camar van. Neither of them has gotten round to making a house there yet. Luckily, Wilbur doesn’t mind them commandeering his floor.

As they lay down, Tommy really hopes. Hopes that maybe tonight he’ll be left alone. He can rest peacefully and wake up with the sun shining through the windows, and Tubbo snoring loudly. Fundy crawling between them, looking for a snack…

Unfortunately, his luck seems to be wearing thin.

Tommy startles awake, nearly smacking his head on the counter above. It takes a moment for things to come into focus around him. He stares down at the floorboards. Focuses on the feeling of his lungs filling, unhindered by river water.

When he glances up, he can’t help but flinch. Wilbur is still awake. He sits at the table, writing under the candlelight. Thankfully, he isn’t staring at Tommy. Doesn’t even seem to notice him. But Tommy knows his brother. Wilbur isn’t so blind.

“Bad dreams?” Wilbur asks, voice gruff with the hour.

Tommy can only nod. A burning shame creeps up his neck. He isn’t a little kid anymore. He should be done with this.

“Thought you grew out of those.” Wilbur murmurs, refilling his quill with ink. There is no judgement in his voice. Only simple observation. Still, Tommy flinches.

“I thought so too…” Tommy grumbles to himself.

After that, Wilbur doesn’t say anything else. If his mind supplies any judgement or snark, he keeps it to himself. Tommy has to be thankful for that. Wilbur might be a right asshole sometimes, but never when it could hurt. Never when Tommy is _vulnerable_.

Unwilling to try and talk anymore, or risk letting his embarrassment show, Tommy lays back down. He turns toward the wall, back to Wilbur. If he’s gonna be awake all night, he at least doesn’t want to stare at Wilbur’s shitty face.

A moment later, there’s a creaking behind him. The floorboards groan. Then, he feels something settle beside him. Rough hands grab him, pulling his head to lay in Wilbur’s lap. Tommy’s nose ends up buried in Wilbur’s stinky shirt. He doesn’t pull himself away.

Wilbur goes back to writing, using Tommy’s head as an elbow rest. He doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t even look down at Tommy.

Just like when he was a kid, something in Tommy settles. For the first time in a long time, Tommy is able to sleep through the rest of the night.

-

As the reality of the war fades, and soon, his nightmares begin to fade with it. Or rather, he becomes more unphased to them. Entire nights are filled with rotating images, scenes from his memories that are slightly… _wrong_. Slightly out of place, but no longer as disturbing.

His nights are restless, but no longer sleepless.

With every passing day, the election grows nearer. Wilbur grows more and more consumed by it. Every waking moment he spends planning. Probably every sleeping moment too. It seems to be the only thing on his mind.

Tommy, meanwhile, simply follows his lead. He’s never quite been good at this. Best to just let Wilbur take control. He’ll lead them in the right direction. He’ll bring them towards victory.

After all, he has every time before, hasn’t he?

-

It all seems to come crashing down at once.

They lose their country. Tommy loses his best friend. Wilbur loses his son. Everything is ripped from them in a single moment.

Tommy’s dreams come back in full force. Only now, he is also plagued by visions of Schlatt on the grandstand. Of all his former friends turning to face him with fire in their eyes. Weapons drawn and teeth bared. Entire nights will pass filled with visions of him running through a dark forest, arrows pummeling the world all around—narrowly missing him.

He begins to wake up in the middle of the night again. Sometimes just startling awake, covered in sweat. Other times yelling out, tears in his eyes. All that greets him is dark, damp ravine. Quiet and cold. He hates it. He hates everything now.

One night, when he falls asleep at the dinner campfire, it isn’t so quiet and cold. It’s one of his worse dreams. Where he’s running through the forest, only for a stray arrow to sink into his leg, bringing him to the ground. Tubbo appears then, axe in hand, smiling menacingly. Nothing is good after that.

He wakes up in a swirl of panic. He probably yells out. Maybe tries to hit something. There’s either sweat or tears running down his face, he can’t tell. All he can feel is the pounding of his heart in his neck.

It takes a few moments before he’s able to come back to reality. He’s strewn out on the hard ground, beside a crackling fire. His dirty stew bowl still sits in front of him, now knocked on its side.

For a second, he thinks it’s just him left by the fire. That is, until he glances up at the stairs. It’s hard not to jump under Wilbur’s sharp gaze. Something’s been off about him for a while. He doesn’t feel familiar anymore.

That feeling is only strengthened at Wilbur’s words.

“Go back to sleep, Tommy.”

There is no kindness in his voice. No sympathy. It is merely an order for Tommy to follow. The terror in his chest is slowly swallowed by an indescribable sadness.

Unable to do anything else, Tommy just nods, and rolls over. He doesn’t go back to sleep, but he keeps his eyes shut and his breathing mellow. He can’t bear to disappoint Wilbur. Not again.

-

After the festival, the dreams of Tubbo hunting him disappear. Instead, they’re replaced with images of bright colors. Happy cracks and pops. Screams as explosions tear through a crowd. A deep, maniacal laugh.

Instead, he dreams of a pit. Anger bubbling and brewing inside him, worse than ever in his life before. Tears of hurt and betrayal threatening to shred through his exterior. Reveal him to be the weak child they all pretend he isn’t.

He dreams of fists, and a broken nose, and the hard ground. Hears Wilbur cackling with joy, as Tommy falls limp to the ground. As Techno stands over him, head high.

Tommy dreams of everyone he’s ever looked up to turning their back on him.

-

All his life, Tommy has thought his nightmares were the worst thing he’d ever see. His worst memories all piled together, morphed into something even grimmer. Even more hurtful and disturbing, and _horrid_. He’s always believed the waking world couldn’t be worse than his bad dreams.

Then, just as everything is looking up, the ground heats up and ignites. L’manberg blows apart at their feet. Everything they’ve been working for— _fighting_ to win back—is turned to rubble. It’s all gone.

There’s another flash of color then. Another cheery _bang_. Tubbo cries out, obviously in pain. Standing there, lording over him, is Technoblade. With the wind in his cape and fire in his bloodred eyes. He holds a black skull in one hand.

And Tommy thinks for a second, everything will be fine. In just a second, he’ll wake up. Startle to reality in Pogtopia, under the familiar lights. Wilbur will snark at him. Techno will glare. Tubbo will smile, always finding a bright side. Everything will be fine.

He looks to his right. There, at the epicenter of the explosion, is that damn bastard Wilbur. With his crazed grin and blank eyes. Beside him, someone Tommy didn’t know if he’d ever see again. Phil. Dad.

It finally sinks in, once Philza plunges the sword into Wilbur’s chest.

This isn’t a nightmare. Even he couldn’t think of something this terrible.

When Techno summons the withers, part of Tommy wants to give up. Wants to lie down and let himself go. But he fights. Just like he has his whole life, he fights.

This time, he doesn’t know why.

-

After that, Tommy doesn’t sleep for three days. Can’t bear to imagine what he’ll see. What will happen when he startles awake and realizes he’s alone. No one is here to comfort him anymore.

Everything hurts without Wilbur. Tommy doesn’t even know why. He was—He was so horrible. To everyone, all the time. Especially towards the—the end. He never listened to Tommy. Stopped caring about him. All he wanted was to blow up everything Tommy ever loved.

So, _why_? Why does it feel like he’s just been carved open? Why does everything feel so pointless and stupid? Why does he feel guilty for just _being_ here, when Wilbur isn’t? Why does Wilbur have to be _gone_?

When Tommy finally falls asleep, he dreams of Wilbur. His mind plays him a million different scenarios. A million different ways that day could have gone. Sometimes Tommy is the one with the sword, facing down Wilbur. Sometimes Wilbur has it. Sometimes Tommy is just a spectator, watching all of his friends tear his brother apart. Other times, Wilbur is the one who carves through all of them.

Somehow, no matter what plays out, Wilbur is always the one who ends up bloody at his feet. Tommy has to stand there motionless, unable to help. Unable to even comfort him in his last moments. It hurts so much.

In the morning, Tommy wakes up sobbing.

He hates Wilbur so much.

He _misses_ Wilbur.

-

There are many things to blame for what happens next. Tommy chooses every option that absolves him of any guilt. Perhaps it was his grief that blinded him. His lack of sleep. The fact that everything feels so empty and goddamn pointless and _stupid_ —

But probably, it was Dream’s fault. Or Tubbo’s. Or everyone single other fucking person who didn’t do _shit_ for him.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Who did what wrong, or who fucked up more… It all ends the same. With Tommy in a boat, following Dream as he’d led out of L’manberg. Tubbo’s words still ring in his ears. Betrayal sits heavy on his chest. None of them care. None of them tried to stop this. They don’t want him.

The only fucking person who decides to come with him is that dumb stupid fucking _ghost_.

Tommy hates every single thing about Ghostbur. Because he’s Wilbur, but _worse_. Wilbur who can’t even remember his life. _Their_ life, together. All the things they did, and everything Wilbur _fucked_ up.

He isn’t Wilbur. So, seeing him walking and talking and _looking_ just like Wilbur just makes everything worse. It just makes Tommy hate him and _hurt_ so much more.

The fucker can’t even die correctly. Typical.

But, at the end of the day, Ghostbur is the only one who offers to come with him. He’s the one who stands in their dirt shack, hiding from the rain with him. He’s the one who hides his good tools from Dream. He tries. That’s more than anyone else has done.

That’s more than _Wilbur_ ever did.

-

Everything is black around him. Black and heavy and cold. He feels himself fall further and further. Get sucked deeper into the abyss. Pulled down by the tendrils of darkness wrapping around him, beckoning him.

What would the point in fighting even be now? There is no country to give up everything for. There is no brother to impress. No best friend to protect. There’s just him, and the trees, and that green bastard.

Who would even miss him?

Tommy startles fully awake. As usual, he tries to take a breath in. He gets a mouthful of salt water instead. He chokes. His lungs are aching. There’s nothing around him but dark water and tendrils of seaweed. He’s trapped.

It feels like years before his head breaches the waves. He sucks in a few desperate breaths, barely keeping his mouth above water. His eyes sting when he tries to open them. All his muscles feel like jelly. It takes all his energy to avoid being pushed under by the waves.

Eventually, he’s able to crack his eyes long enough to find the direction of shore. He begins paddling towards it. Along the way, he inhales a few more mouthfuls of salt water. Not to mention the times he’s dunked under the waves. It breeds more panic in him every single time.

Miraculously, he manages to crawl onto the sand. He’s only a few feet from his tent, but he can’t bring himself to move anymore. He just rolls onto his back, staring up at the stars. Lungs struggling to return to normal. Heart threatening to break his ribs.

The tears start soon after. It’s impossible to get them to stop.

-

Everything is cold, and white, and he’s _alone_. He’s been alone for so, so long. Frankly, he thinks he might have gone a little crazy because of it. But there’s no use in dwelling on that now. He just has to keep moving.

He’s shaking like a leaf, and frankly, he’s not sure if it’s due to the cold or… everything else. His ears are still ringing from the explosions. Eyes still burning with unshed tears as he was yelled at. Face still numb from the cold after sitting up on that tower for so long.

Mostly, his head is spinning. Desperately trying to keep up with everything that’s happened and failing _miserably_. Dream was his only friend, but he… Was he his friend? He had to have been. He was the only one who—No. He was just _watching_ Tommy. Trying to control him. That’s right. That has to be right, because he’s already left and—

And Tommy is so, so tired.

He trudges through the cold, bringing Wilbur’s old coat closer around his torso. He doesn’t know why he took it. Maybe because it was one of the only things he had left. Maybe because that damn ghost disappeared, and Tommy is desperate for the company.

Maybe Tommy just needs the comfort.

He crests a hill, and _finally_. Finally, he’s found it. That little house in the middle of the artic. With a happy, smoking chimney and a welcoming door, just ready to be broken into. Tommy can’t help but smile. He’s reached somewhere safe.

Now, maybe, he can rest.

-

Ever since he was little, Tommy has had nightmares.

There was hardly a night that passed without the young man waking up in cold sweat. This night seems to be one like any other. Memories new and fresh, or old and played out, masquerading in his mind in strange, disturbing ways. Reminding him of all his mistakes, all his near misses.

It all creeps up on him, building up more and more. Falling over him and suffocating him slowly. Constricting him, forcing him to sit idle. To be just as _useless_ as he was in the real moment.

It isn’t until Phil uses that sword that Tommy startles awake.

At first, reality panics him even more. In the darkness, his surroundings are unfamiliar. This isn’t his house. It isn’t the camar van either. Or Pogtopia or Logstedshire or—or—

Once his eyes adjust, he manages to exhale properly. It’s Techno’s basement. That’s right, he’s staying here. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to worry about making too much noise and being found out. That ship has already sailed.

He sits up in bed, rubbing his stinging eyes. As his vision begins to unblur, he startles again. Nearly screams in surprise but bites his tongue just in time. Just because he doesn’t have to worry about Techno hauling him to Dream doesn’t mean he should be screaming in the middle of the night.

It’s times like these he wishes the dumb ghost had just _stayed_ lost.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Ghostbur murmurs in his strange whine. “ _I didn’t mean to startle you. You just sounded like you were upset and…_ ”

He hovers against the opposite wall, looking like a kicked dog. That’s right. Tommy said he could stay in his spare “room” for a while. Why did he do that? He really must be screwed in the head.

Tommy sighs, already turning over in bed. “It’s fine, Ghostbur. Just go back to bed.”

“ _But you’re upset!_ ”

He can’t help but be shocked at the words. Why would he care? He hasn’t cared for a long time. No one has. Besides, Tommy is an adult now, isn’t he? He can take care of him. Skies above, he wishes the damn ghost would just _leave_.

“It’s _fine_ , Wilbur.”

“ _But_ —”

“I don’t need your help, okay?” Tommy snaps, sitting up to glare at him. “If you want to help me, you shouldn’t have died in the first place! You shouldn’t have gone fucking crazy either! That would’ve helped me!”

“ _That wasn’t me_ ,” Ghostbur frowns. “ _That was Alivebur, and I’m not_ —”

“No, you’re not. So, what’s even the point of you then, hm? Why are you even here?”

“ _I… I don’t know, exactly. I’m still trying to figure that out…_ ”

Tommy huffs to himself again, burying his face in his hands. He just wants to be alone right now. For _once_ , he _wants_ it. And he can’t even have it. _Typical_.

“ _You seem upset though, and that’s not good_. _I don’t know what it is, but I want to help! I think helping is what I’m supposed to do_ —”

“You don’t even remember.” Tommy grumbles. “You don’t even remember about the damn… Okay, that’s fine. Please just leave.”

“ _I don’t… Oh, wait! You have nightmares, don’t you? Tubbo mentioned that before! When I asked how I could help you, he said it might_ —”

“Alright, good job, Wilbur.” Tommy mumbles, rolling over again and pulling his blanket over his face. “You remembered. That’s helped me. You can go now. I wanna go back to sleep.”

There’s a strange chill in the air, as Ghostbur moves closer. Tommy hates that he knows what that feels like now. Most importantly, he hates how his heartrate begins to settle.

“ _What do you have nightmares about_?” Ghostbur asks lightly.

Tommy wants to tell him off. But Wilbur never asks. Never in all of their childhood did he ever ask. Maybe Ghostbur is right. Maybe he isn’t like—like _Alivebur_.

“All kinds of things. Bad memories, mostly.”

“ _What kind of bad memories_?”

“Like uh… When I died the first time. Or when L’manberg got blown up. Either of the times it got blown up, actually… Uh, the festival too. The war for L’manberg. Getting exiled. When you… When Wilbur died. A lot of things actually.”

“ _That does sound like a lot… What can I do to help_?”

Tommy should tell him to leave. He knows that. He’s sure Ghostbur is expecting it. All things considered, it’s for the best. Eventually, Tommy needs to learn to deal with this on his own. Wilbur is dead, after all. This is just… a nicer imitation of him. One that will also probably die or vanish or whatever it is that ghosts do.

But in that moment, Tommy is weak. He’s vulnerable. All he wants is some rest, some relief. Some comfort… It’s been so, so long since he had any. Since he was able to feel _safe_ and warm and entirely protected.

Carefully, he pokes his head out of his blanket, and peers back at Ghostbur once more. It’s hard to look at him. Not just emotionally, but _physically_ too. He looks just like Wilbur did, just… just _gray_. A little… _blurry_ around the edges.

Seeing him hurts, but in a different way then he’s been feeling. Different than the grief that started blooming when Wilbur pressed that button, when he collapsed with a sword in his chest. Different even to when they were exiled, and the brother he knew began to fade into something much… worse.

It’s a good hurt. A comfortable hurt. A hurt that he knows will end one day, if he can just stand to stare it down long enough.

“Just…” Tommy’s voice cracks. “Will you stay?”

Ghostbur’s eyes widen briefly, before he nods earnestly. Too tired to be embarrassed, Tommy turns to face him again. He bunches the blankets up by his nose, like he did when he was little. Ghostbur settles at the side of his bed. He doesn’t quite touch anything, not even the floor.

Gently, Ghostbur lays a hand on his head. It’s not quite right. Not quite the warm, rough hands he’s become used to. In fact, it doesn’t really feel like he’s being touched at all. More like a heavy, cool spot of air has landed against his hair.

In that moment, Tommy finds that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of it anymore. Because right now, he’s okay. He’s safe. He’s looked after. Nothing can hurt him here.

He’s got his big brother back.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


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